not call. She married my father; left him and me. I do not remember her.
Since her death my father has been a spent man. We have wandered from
place to place. When he found work I was sent to some convent near by.
The Sisters have taught me. For three months I studied with Barili. I
have sung in the churches. Finally, Mr. McDermott, on the next
plantation, met us in New York, recommended my father for this work, and
we came here."

She turned from him as she ended the telling. "What shall I sing?" she
asked.

"'The Serenade.'"

"Schubert's?"

"There is but one."

"It is difficult without the accompaniments but I will try:

"'All the stars keep watch in heaven
While I sing to thee,
And the night for love was given--
Darling, come to me--
Darling, come to me!'"

She ended, her hands clasped before her, her lithe figure, by God-given
instinct for song, leaned forward, and Francis Ravenel was conscious
that the passion in the voice had nothing to do with his presence; that
it was the music alone of which she thought, and for the first time in
his life he touched the edge of the knowledge that _a great gift sets